Arawolf Beechclaw, Sueslayer Extraordinaire
by LittlePsychoWolf
Summary: [PARODY] In which my brave marten alter ego embarks on a quest to save Mossflower from being conquered by the Sues. Reviews appreciated. Companion fic to Linwe Seregon Swifteye by my good pal Kelaiah.
1. In Which The Mission Unfolds

_...Filled with fiery anger at the sight of her enemy, Breezefyre drew her blade and stormed down the hill. She was a terrifying sight; a beautiful, muscular ferretmaid with auburn fur and pale gray eyes- eyes that were now burning scarlet with bloodlust, and equipped with a mighty golden sword, a full twelve feet long, four feet wide and studded along its length with shining rubies, with a hilt of silver. The only thought in her mind was revenge for her murdered kin, and she wielded the weapon as though it weighed no more than a feather. The battle cry that ripped from her throat as she charged toward her foe, swinging her blade high above her head, struck fear, as cold as death itself, into theyre hearts. _

_"DEATH ISHERE, MUDERER!" SHE ROARED, SLAYINGTWENTYVERmin with a single swipe of her sword then turning as fast as a wounded cobra and killing ten more always seeking her mortal foe the wicked ferret Deathfyre Ragefang, her own brother who had slaughtered their family as part of his brutal quest for power. On the fringe of the battle, he raged like a summer thunderstorm as he ordered more and more of his horde to attack his sister- the only obstacle left in his path to conkering the entire country.She was massacering his horde, he saw with fury. Even the mightyest of his warriors fell like blades of grass before the might of the vengeful Breezefyre and her wonderous goldensword._

* * *

"What the hell _is _this?!" Arawolf exclaimed in shock, recoiling from the computer screen as though it contained the plague. Which, in a sense, it did.

"A redhead ferret whose brother killed his own family? Gigantic golden swords? 'Even the mightiest warriors fell like blades of grass...?' Names like 'Deathfyre Ragefang?' This fic is a disgrace to BJ and a menace to society. It's filled with bad grammar and spelling, confusing and impossible situations, and beautiful, unique reformed vermin heroines out for revenge. In short, it's... a Sue."

The marten could not say what compelled her to continue reading. Perhaps it was a vain hope that the story would somehow miraculously improve in the next three paragraphs; although having already suffered through twelve previous chapters, she knew it was not to be, as the following lines soon attested:

_Finally, the time of reckining had arrived. The horde formed a silent circle around the two combatants, ferrets both but as strickingly different as night and day. The fiery-pelted Breezefyre, gripping her blade tight, facing her brother, a beast with fur as black as his heart and ekwipped with a curved silver knife. A long fang curved out of one side of his mouth, in daylight it was a normal ivory color but now in the mystical light of the moon, it glowed a shining silver and was inset with a vertickal row of three tiny red-tinted diamonds. _

Arawolf moaned in despair. Surely, there would be an end. It could not be _possible_ to continue this. She quickly scrolled down the page, stopping a few paragraphs later at the villain's death. A completed quest generally preceded a happy ending, and she fervently prayed that this would be the case.

_Breezefyre stood over the unmoving corpse of her brother, his features frozen forever in a last snarl of rage at the golden blade buried in his chest and its holder, the sister who had finally taken his life._

Ara had resorted to screaming at the computer in fury, although being a machine, it made no response. "Of course his corpse isn't going to move, you moron! Have you ever seen one that did?! And since when do people 'bury swords in chests?' You don't do that, you slash, stab, dismember, decapitate! AUUUGHHHH!" she howled, leaping out of the chair. "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! SOMEONE HAS TO STOP THESE...THESE NIGHTMARES!" The teen marten stormed across the room and began digging through her closet.

Several piles of stuff later, she finally located the proper clothing and weaponry. A dark green tunic and black pants, a simple studded belt, and a long scimitar, made of an ordinary steel with a cord handle. Her attire was plain and conservative, her blade tending toward the boring. Nothing was gem-studded, made of expensive materials, or extraordinarily beautiful, as was Ara herself. An adolescent pine marten, of medium height and slender build; she had the normal coloring of her species- dark brown fur and a creamy throat, with dark brown eyes. Her only adornments were earrings, two pairs in each ear, and a silver pendant in the shape of a long, curved claw. All in all, she was perfectly suited for her mission. Arawolf Beechclaw would have to rid the land of Mossflower from its greatest scourge ever... the Mary Sue.

* * *

**A final A/N before the story begins: In case the long description of the boring weapon, clothing, and Ara's physique confused you, it's common knowledge that Redwall Sues (and their male counterpart, the Stus), being amazingly gorgeous bearers of ten-foot golden swords and usually with impossible fur and eye colors, can only be defeated by the most plain of weapons wielded by reasonably pretty creatures (hey, who said I was ugly? ;D ). Plus, thanks are in order for Adverk, for your helpful suggestions on how to make the Sues truly Sue-worthy and how to completely annihilate grammar and spelling.**


	2. In Which The Villains Arrive

A swift plane flight and several fractures of the laws of reality later, Arawolf was padding through Mossflower Woods, scimitar at the ready. Some inner sense was tingling. Something was here, and it was too tragically perfect to live. The feeling grew stronger, and she began to grow apprehensive. What if she fell under the Sue's spell? She would either be rendered too sympathetic of the demon's plight to do anything, or turn into some ugly, raging lunatic- just another hardship the Sue would have to deal with. Presumably with a ten-foot golden sword.

The young marten gave a silent gasp of horror as she peered around the trunk of a huge oak… and saw.

* * *

Two seasons had passed since Krialor Moonblaze's life had been turned upside down. Once, he had lived a happy and peaceful life, unusually for a weasel, with his mate Sryiah Stareyes. They had never wished to hurt anybeast, and were kind and generous to all living things in the hope that they could free their kind from their wicked stereotypes.

He had been a Corsair once, but he had grown sickened of killing and turned to the farming life. His mate had been a slave under an evil fox warlord, but she'd escaped with him one moonless night, when he sailed to the fox's island to repair his ship. They had decided to live in the woodland, away from other creatures, lest their strange appearances evoke even more hatred.

For Krialor's fur was jet black, and his namesake came from a blaze of gray fur across his face. At night this mark and his eyes glowed a brilliant silver, giving him the appearance of some guiding spirit- or a demon. His wife Sryiah was similarly afflicted, a stunning creature with sleek pale gray fur and blue eyes, which like her husband's, glowed whitish-silver when touched by moonlight.

But their secluded life failed to save them when the creatures of Redwall Abbey learned about the weasels in their territory. Their warrior, a brave otter Skipper descended from the Taggerung, had vowed long ago to destroy all vermin. On that fateful night, the two weasels had been sleeping when the vengeful woodlanders attacked. Destroying Krialor's home and fields, they left both creatures for dead with dreadful injuries. Both survived, although their new cub did not. Krialor would never forget the sight.

Trying to see through the blood dripping into his eyes, Sryiah cut down as she pleaded for her babe's life. A female otter had objected then; she did not wish to kill a newborn of any species. But her leader was merciless. Turning his face away, unable to watch as his son's cries were abruptly cut off.

Krialor shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memories. He had changed since that night, as had Sryiah. Both had trained themselves to be expert fighters, but he had grown depressed and was prone to unpredictable rages whenever he thought of the horrors he had experienced. Sryiah had become silent and jaded, and now the uppermost idea in the weasels' minds was revenge. Although they still despised senseless slaughter, ignoring the destruction of their lives and the murder of their babe in favor of a quiet life was out of the question.

Twilight was gathering, and Krialor's eyes began to gleam silver as he roused his wife. "Tonight's the night," he murmured. Sryiah rose from her bed and stared into the handsome face of her husband. Without a word she packed food and spare clothes, and soon the two weasels had left their home, taking care to conceal the entrance. Sryiah's fur rivaled the stars appearing in the darkening sky as she set her eyes on the woods ahead and spoke only six words. "Tomorrow…the fall of Redwall begins."

* * *

Safe behind her tree trunk, Arawolf shuddered and turned away. _Oh, CRAP. I just HAD to get the hard mission on my very first time. Couldn't we start out with a demi-Sue?_

With a sigh, Ara curled up under the shelter of a nearby rock overhang, with her blade close to paw. She needed sleep- the sight of that glowing she-weasel had made her feel more than a little sick.

* * *

** A/N: Wow… I can't believe I managed to write those villain descriptions. Hope the Suethor thing isn't addictive. And thanks to my friend Kelaiah, for mentioning in your "Redwall and the Haunted Mansion" story that any females daring to face a Sue are portrayed as infinitely hideous and evil. It helps.**


	3. In Which The Evil Plot Begins

The two weasels padded through the dark woods, their minds totally focused on the task ahead of them. Krialor's muscular body was tense with fury as he recalled once more what the creatures of Redwall had done to him, and Sryiah's silver eyes were filled with vengeance, fired by the proud spirit seasons upon seasons of slavery had failed to break.

* * *

**A/N: I seriously cannot believe I just wrote that. Where is it coming-nay, _spewing_- from? WHERE? Ahem, sorry.**

* * *

They did not see the dark shape slipping through the trees until it was almost on top of them, knocking Krialor over as it grabbed eagerly for his mate. Like lightning, the dark weasel leapt into action, knocking the attacker away as he hefted his battle-axe. The light of the moon, Sryiah's glowing pelt, and his excellent night vision gave him a perfect view of the animal. 

It was another male weasel, but normally colored, thin, and extremely disheveled. The leer on his dirty face as he stared at Sryiah was replaced by a hateful glare as he looked up at the big creature with the silver eyes, pressing the axe's razor-sharp edge into his throat fur.

Krialor was just about to strike when he felt a touch on his shoulder.

Without withdrawing his weapon, he turned his head to see Sryiah gazing over him at the weasel, eyes narrowed. "Wait, Krial. Don't slay him yet. I've got a better idea, one we can use over and over again."

The black weasel raised his axe blade, allowing the scruffy one to sit up. The mark on his head was glowing even brighter, as were his eyes; a sign of strong feeling; in this case, anger. "Why?" he demanded, body shaking as he strove to control his lust to kill.

"Quiet," his mate murmured. "Watch." Leaving his side, she walked over until she was standing in front of the grimy creature, sitting on the ground with a bemused look on his face. His eyes lit up as the beautiful weasel femme raised him up to a standing position and placed a paw about his shoulders, murmuring softly into his ear.

Krialor snarled with fury, and he was just about to leap forward when he noticed something. The scruffy weasel's body began to shake, and he collapsed on the forest floor with a moan, writhing and twitching as though he was possessed. Sryiah withdrew to stand by her husband, watching the spectacle with a satisfied look on her face.

The change came slowly at first, starting at the nape of his neck where Sryiah's paw had lain and spreading down the body. Muddy, matted fur became long and sleek, and its color changed from a faded brown to a spectacular shade of mahogany, tipped with gold on the ears and tail-tip. Ugly features morphed slowly (and presumably painfully) into a face that would have melted any female heart in under a minute.  
The eyes changed too, their previous muted green turning a deep emerald with flecks of gold lingering in their depths, and their look of confusion and pain was quickly replaced by one of dull obedience. His clothes, merely a pair of ragged breeches held up by a piece of rope, were also transformed; a spotless white linen shirt covered by a dark leather vest and pantaloons of black silk, surmounted by a bronze-studded snakeskin belt with a golden buckle, fitted perfectly to his newly muscled body.  
With an audible "_ping!_" golden bracelets appeared on both his wrists. It was finished.

Without a trace of emotion, the weasel got slowly to his feet. His mind was utterly empty, a blank canvas to be written on at the whim of his superiors. Who, needless to say, were extremely pleased with their newest creation.

"What's your name?" Krialor suddenly barked, amazed at the transformation.  
This one fragment of information somehow still remained in the weasel's brain. "Bluddjaw, sir," he replied, staring blankly into space, although the vacuous expression only heightened the appeal of his ruggedly handsome good looks.

Krialor snorted. "Lousy vermin name. That won't help us one bit. From now on you'll be called Oakwind Goldenblade. And here's your namesake, while we're at it." From out of nowhere, he produced the standard twelve-foot golden Sue-sword and tossed it toward Oakwind, who caught it effortlessly.

Sryiah laughed wickedly as Krialor Moonblaze embraced her. "My love, you've done it again! Soon we'll have the most wonderful army in the world!" His paw gently traced the deep scars, left by the whips of her old slavemasters, on her back as they lost themselves in a long and passionate kiss.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the previous crappiness. I have never written anything remotely resembling fluff before, and apart from that sentence, I never intend to again. Sorry if I scared you.**

* * *

Arawolf lay, stunned and now utterly nauseated, hidden behind the fallen log where she had watched everything. Woken at first by the sounds of the distant scuffle, she had tracked the sounds of Oakwind's ensuing(or **enSUEing** hehehe) metamorphosis to their source and was horrified at what she'd witnessed.

Now she watched the three Sues head off through the woodland, until the glow of Sryiah Stareyes' fur and the exultant sound of her mate's triumphant laughter faded into the distance.

Supressing a shudder and the sudden urge to vomit, the young marten shook herself, leaped cautiously out from behind the log, and set off on her enemy's trail. From what she'd heard, Redwall Abbey was only a few days' march to the northeast of this area. Speed was of the essence.

* * *

**The final A/N of the chapter: OH NO! A SUE-HORDE IS IN THE MAKINGS! Z0MG LYK NOOOO!1!!ELEVENTYONE! And Kelaiah, you will be appearing in the next chapter, as will your respective Sue, Linwe whatsername. Thanks for your ideas!**

**To the rest of my readers: Sorry if you were expecting Suethor grammar, spelling, paragraphs of doom and whatnot, but that was just in the first chapter, where Ara was reading the Sue-fic of death. Now I'm focusing more on the descriptions of the Sues, terrible as they be.**

**And, I know the chappies are a little short, but oh well, that's just how it's turning out. Blame my Muse.**


	4. In Which The Sues Attack

**Disclaimer: Although I still own Ara, Krialor and Sryiah, and the Sue-horde; about half the plotline, some of the dialogue, and two of the Sues belong to my pal Kelaiah, since we're kind of making his fic, "Linwe Seregon Swifteye," into a companion to mine. Thus, I don't own Linwe, Kelaiah himself, or the singing Marlfoxes.**

**Obviously, I don't own Redwall either, because then it would mean I either am Brian Jacques(highly unlikely), or I own him, and that's called slavery, which has been illegal in the USA sin****ce 18-something. But I digress.**

**What you are about to read is the edited version of this chapter. Previously, it had far too much of the same content as Kelaiah's fic. Thanks to Sorcha O'Reilly for a much-needed wake-up call.**

* * *

Mossflower Woods echoed and re-echoed with the thunderous sound. The horde was on the march, moving fast, and growing as it went. Species made no difference; whether wandering vermin or traveling woodlander, no creature in their path escaped recruitment.

Beautiful footpaws pounded the earth, but somehow stayed free of even the most microscopic speck of dust. Twelve-foot golden blades glowed brilliantly in the sunlight from where they were slung across backs, thrust through belts, or held ready in their owners' powerful paws. Unnoticed by any of the hordebeasts, a dark figure slipped from tree to tree, occasionally letting out a muffled curse when it banged into a low-hanging branch or tripped over a root.

At the front of the mighty army, Krialor Moonblaze was growing restless, his eyes and facial mark beginning to glow even in the bright morning light. His inner senses were tingling; in addition to his intelligence and amazing skill in battle, the dark weasel possessed supernatural abilities to detect dangerous situations. There were enemies about. Probably woodlanders, out to rescue their kin from the 'vermin' marching alongside them.

_Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we? _he thought. _Horde, halt!_

The army stopped dead in their tracks, as suddenly as though they'd run into an invisible brick wall. There was no scuffling as everybeast hurried to stand still; every single creature had halted at the same exact instant.

The instant Krialor had thought the command, to be precise. Telepathy was just another one of the many talents the Sues were hiding up their silk-and-velvet sleeves. In rare cases (of course, meaning almost all of them), this could develop into telekinesis- being able to move objects or stop foes by sheer mind power.

"Riaksairhi Falconstrike!" he roared. Like lightning, a tall, slender stoat, with eyes of a bright golden-orange and fur of sleek, shining tan, broken up by many white markings that gave the appearance of feathers, shot through the ranks and appeared at his leader's side.

Falconstrike was second-in-command of the horde, and he'd been marching further back to keep an eye on some of the new recruits. There was always the slightest chance that the morphing process could somehow pass over the brain, producing a creature with all the beauty and fighting skill, but none of the blind obedience. Catastrophic, to say the least.

"There are woodlanders about. Find them. You know what to do from there," Moonblaze snapped through gritted, pearly white teeth. The Abbey could not be that far away now, and the weasel was finding it hard to control his anger.

Riaksairhi gave an elegant bow. "Right away, Lord." Swift and noiseless, he bounded away and was lost to sight in the forest.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the trees in a small clearing, creating bright, dappled patterns that shifted along the surface of the stream. The otterbabe laughed, leaping at the water to try and catch the pretty, moving lights. His father caught him just in time, his little paws frantically pedaling the air. "Hold 'ard there, son," he said cheerfully. "Git some lunch down ye first!" 

Squeaking in delight at the thought of food, the babe wriggled free and tore into the bread, cheese, and fruit with the appetite of a starving wolfpack.

His mother smiled, happy that her son was enjoying the picnic. She stroked his headfur gently with one slender paw, using the other to wipe the flying crumbs and cheese scraps off her muzzle.

Spotting something out of the corner of his eye, the male otter grabbed his javelin, leveling it at the chest of the stoat who had just arrived in their camp. He was unusually clean and well-dressed for a vermin, but the otter was suspicious nonetheless.

"Who are ye an' wot're ye doin' ere?" he barked, eyeing the stranger warily.

Behind him, his mate held their son close, shielding him with her body. Mistrust radiated from the pair, in an aura so powerful it was almost visible.

The stoat smiled. "Such a warm welcome. Would ye believe me if I said I was a mere traveler?"

He drew a sword from his belt, straight along almost all of its fifteen feet, until it curved at the tip like the beak of a bird of prey. "No," he answered himself, his golden-orange eyes twinkling with a malicious delight. "I suppose not."

The otter threw his javelin. It thudded hard into the trunk of an ash, in front of which the stoat had been standing only a second or two before. Then Falconstrike was behind his enemy. With a slash that made the air shriek around it, the sword found its mark. The otter fell, moaning in terror and pain as the transformation began.

The female did not even have time to scream before she met the same fate.

Now he saw that there was a babe. Even transformed, at such a young age it would never be of much use as a fighter. It was crying as it watched its parents writhe, then suddenly turned and ran for the trees.

In a blur, Falconstrike appeared before it. Too stunned to move further, the baby otter fell backwards, staring up at the stoat with wide, frightened eyes.

Riaksairhi sheathed his sword. He had other plans for this one. A decoy, an untouched babe, would be perfect to lure those woodlanders outside their walls.

He smiled reassuringly at the little otter as he picked it up and settled it on his shoulders. At first, it snarled and tried to bite his ear, but the charm of the handsome stoat won out. Before long it was giggling with excitement at the wonderful, speedy ride, as he raced back to the horde and the adult otters followed behind, pleasingly empty looks in their sparkling azure eyes.

* * *

Oakwind Goldenblade was tramping dutifully along in the rear, when a voice began to speak in his mind. Soft, melodious, but commanding nonetheless. 

-_Oakwind,_- it said.

-_Yes, milady?_- he replied.

-_There's a creature following us. A she-marten, common little beast. She's armed. Don't come back until you've got her._-

-_Shall I transform her according to your wishes, milady?_- Goldenblade inquired.

-_No, not yet,_- Sryiah replied with forced calm, as she still rather despised him. -_Just bring her with you. I want to find out why she's here and what she's up to._

-_Yes, milady. I shall go at once._-

True to his word, Oakwind turned and began trotting back through the woods, mighty sword at the ready.

On impulse, he stopped and peered into the few inches of space between the branches of two close-growing trees. A pair of shocked brown eyes peered back, then withdrew as their owner scrambled out of her hiding place and faced him.

It was a pine marten, female and apparently somewhere in her adolescent seasons, with no great beauty to speak of compared to the femmes he'd been around recently. His brain managed to remember Sryiah's request, and concluded after a few lengthy moments that this must be the creature she'd spoken of.

"Do not dare to stand in my way, wench," he declaimed heroically, twelve-foot golden sword pointing dangerously in her direction. "You face the wrath of Oakwind Goldenblade, soldier in the mighty horde of Krialor Moonblaze! Surrender now and you will not be harmed!"

For a fraction of a second Arawolf was almost drawn in, mesmerized by the handsome, muscular weasel and the wonderous blade that he weildedwithsuchAMAZINGSTRENGTH!!1! Z0MG!1!! TEH HAWT SMEXY WEESEL MANS!11!ELEVENTYONE!!

She shook her head, horrified, and drew her own weapon- the plain, uninteresting scimitar, which she had fortunately remembered to polish with garlic before she left, thus endowing it with double Sue-slaying power.

However, Oakwind did not even flinch.

"Hah!" he barked, throwing back his gorgeous head and laughing derisively. "I am a descendant of Ferahgo the Assassin! Ye cannot hope to defeat me!" With that, he leapt forward at a frightening speed, swinging the golden sword.

Ara ingloriously dropped to the ground as the weapon slashed overhead, carrying its owner with it. Oakwind briefly hurtled unchecked through the air, then did a somersault and landed upright, still brandishing his blade. Roaring a blood-chilling war cry, he attacked once more as his enemy stood up and shook herself, sneezing as dust entered her nose.

"Goldenblaaade!"

But this time Ara was ready. As the big weasel charged forward, she lunged to meet his rush, managing to inflict a small chest wound. Being a Stu, however, this little cut amounted to less than nothing for Oakwind, and this time the marten evaded the golden sword only by a couple of millimeters.

She panted for breath as the weasel circled her, swinging her scimitar warningly in all sorts of directions and trying desperately to recall those fencing classes she'd taken. _Oh, wait, I kind of sucked at fencing. Uh-oh._

Ara knew that even the smallest wound from the sword, or her enemy's claws or teeth, would be enough to change her. _How come all that 'a fate worse than death' stuff has to come true for ME?_

Goldenblade smiled, a fierce wolverine's grin, as he slowly closed in on her. "Come on, little maid. I'm not going to hurt you. Just come with me, that's all. Answer a few questions, and then your life will definitely be looking up."

"Right," Ara replied scathingly. "I _really_ want to become an empty-headed Technicolor slave-freak like you. I may be a teenager, but I'm not obsessing over my sadly 'imperfect' body shape enough to accept that!"

With a furious roar, the weasel dropped his sword and simply leapt at her. He grabbed the marten in a vicious headlock, pinning her against him and crushing the air from her lungs. Unfortunately, her sword arm was now forced into his chest, sword included. The keen-edged scimitar, aided by its coating of garlic, drove itself into his throat.

His grip slackened immediately, allowing his captive to tumble backwards and collapse among the dead leaves of the forest floor, gasping for breath. Ara had been gripping the scimitar so tightly that it came out as well; with a sickening squelching noise, the blade was freed, leaving the blood to flow unhindered.

"I...will be...avenged..." Oakwind rasped, falling to his knees as his strength left him. "You...cannot...hope... to...defeat...the Sues..."

Blood bubbled from his mouth and throat with the effort of speech, and with a final snarl he collapsed on the ground, as a pool of crimson rapidly spread around his body. It glistened in the sunlight, sparkling with many shades of light and dark red, and even traces of gold. Passing crows and other scavengers took note of this, and gave the Stu-carcass a wide berth.

Ara cried out, beginning to shake as she realized what she'd done. _I killed somebeast!_

Swaying where she stood, she nearly passed out from horror and shock before something occurred to her. _Pull yourself together, Ara, he's the _enemy_. He's a _Marty Stu_- a twister of reality, a murderer of canon and everything honest writers stand for! He's not meant to exist! And there's a whole lot more of them out there, so you can't afford to freak out._

Another thought presented itself, this one a bit more impatient than the last. _He attacked you first, anyway, it remarked. Ever heard of self-defense? Sheesh!_

_He wasn't a Stu in the beginning, nor by choice, _Ara countered, not really aware that she was holding an argument with the voices in her head- and losing.

_Damn straight he wasn't a Stu,_ the voice snapped, resorting to mild profanity to make its point. She'd really made herself mad this time.

_He was a bloody _rapist!, it continued. _Personally, I think he's much better off this way. Not a criminal, not a dangerous freak of nature. Just plain dead._

_You've got a point,_ she conceded, recalling with a shiver the leer on the weasel's face as he cornered Sryiah.

Arawolf's senses quickly returned, and her thoughts finally quieted down a bit. Picking up some dead grass to wipe the gore off of her blade, the marten looked once more at the corpse and tried to laugh scornfully at her defeated enemy.

She was unsuccessful, producing a sound somewhere between a gag and a yelp. _Oh, wonderful._

Getting word to the Abbey was more important than ever- if one Sue was this hard to kill, facing an entire horde was definitely going to be a problem.

* * *

**One rather nondescript journey later, in which Arawolf takes an extremely wide detour around the Sue-horde, thus managing to avoid further epic battles…**

**_(So wide, in fact, that she took a wrong turn at one point and ended up in the Caribbean. Which, in any other situation, would have been perfect, but there's an Abbey to save.)_**

* * *

Ara gazed up in awe at Redwall Abbey. Lying on her bed obsessively reading descriptions of the place seemed a lifetime away. Up close and real, well, it was pretty freakin' awesome. 

Then the roars and screams from inside the grounds brought her back to reality. _Oh, yeah, gotta save this place. Well, the gates are wide open. Wonder what genius thought of that?_

She peered cautiously around the wall, and was horrified at what she saw. Those weasels had certainly been busy. Ara _knew_ she would never be able to fight off that many Sues. _Crap._

Walking as silently as possible, the young marten edged inside the Abbey walls and onto the grounds, trying to avoid the battle raging all around her, when something caught her eye.

A huge mob of Sue-vixens were fighting over something in the grass, yelping and sighing with jealous delight. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Ara's better instincts were vaporized as she charged at the Sues, scattering them in all directions with vicious slashes of her scimitar. This was more like it! Now all she needed was some theme music.

Ironically, it was Mokkan the Marlfox who prevented her from being attacked. The vixens had been so preoccupied with their prize, even their Sue-senses were blind to the approaching danger. Her reprieve would not last long, however.

"Run, Mokkan, run!" Ara howled, whirling around to face the enraged Sues as they leapt for her. The Marlfox obeyed, but one of the vixens paused with her golden sword inches away from the marten's throat, dropped it, and tackled him to the ground. The rest forgot about her as well, and raced en masse back to their captive object of desire.

Unfortunately, a large part of the horde had been attracted by the noise, and soon Ara was backed against a wall, surrounded by Sues, swinging her scimitar in wide arcs in an attempt to keep them at bay.

Sensing the garlic-enhanced steely boringness, the Sues kept their distance for the most part; but they knew they had her cornered. More than twoscore of them were constantly circling like exotically colored vultures, drawing ever closer.

The scimitar was swept from her paws by a golden blade, and with melodious cries of triumph the Sues pounced, swords at the ready.

Howling defiantly at the sky one last time, Ara closed her eyes, not wanting to see what would happen next.

_Well,_ she amended, _maybe just a peek. Then I can see where to spit in their faces before I go._

Apprehensively, the marten opened one eye, only to look down and see a long arm wrap itself firmly around her waist. She yelped, but the sound was lost in a rush of wind as she found herself swinging through the air.

* * *

Ara found herself up on the Abbey ramparts, staring into the smiling face of a tall male ferret, as he gently released her. In true chivalrous fashion, he made sure she could stand before stepping back. 

Furious beyond belief, Ara stalked forward and slapped her rescuer hard in the face.

She followed this up by attempting to kick him, right where it would do the most damage, but to her great displeasure he jumped back just in time.

"I had those freaks right where I wanted 'em!" she roared. "Whaddya think I am, some kinda damsel in distress? A delicate little flower who can't handle herself in a fight? Those Sues were about to get the beating of their lives if you hadn't come flying in on your rope and oh-so-bravely carried me away! Well get lost, jerk!"

The ferret, however, did not seem ready to give up.

"Hey, wait!" he called, running after her.

_Why the hell is he following me?_ She spun around, baring her teeth. "What do you want now?"

"Look," he said quickly, holding up his paws in a peaceful gesture. "I didn't want you to be killed by the Sues, okay? Face it, you were out-skilled and _really _out-numbered."

Ara grumbled under her breath for a moment or two, but then heaved a sigh, nodded, and grinned. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just don't know what to expect when random ferrets leap off walltops to come and rescue me. Say, who are you, anyway? I didn't know Redwallers allowed ferrets, and you're wearing one of their outfits."

The ferret smiled back. _Jeez, he's cheerful,_ she thought.

"I'm Kelaiah. I'm a novice here at the Abbey. It's a long story. But to get to the point, I'm on your side, uh..." He trailed off, blinking at her. "Um, your name is...?"

Ara laughed, her natural good humor quickly returning. This "Kelaiah" guy didn't seem so bad after all. "Arawolf Beechclaw. Call me Ara, or Wolf if you want. The choice is yours. I'm trying to be a professional Sueslayer, but I guess you can see it's not working out that well."

"Okay then, Ara," he replied. "But I can't stop and chat right now. I had a Sue captured when- Oh dear."

He turned around to find that Linwe had disappeared from the walltop.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this is where the action truly begins! If Ara's mood swings come across as a bit too sudden, or you feel she's completely insane, well, that's me.**

**Kelaiah, this chapter would not have been what it is were it not for all your helpful corrections and hilarious ideas. Between you and me, those Sues are never gonna know what hit 'em. Oh, and I compromised on Lantur's Sue-spawn... I mean daughter. You wanted "Luneaira," I liked "Lunaiia." So now she's Luneaiira.**

**She also appears in my oneshot "One Night in a Storm," along with Linwe, so read that too if you're enjoying this. I shamelessly promote my own works. Bwahaha.**


	5. In Which The Villains Encounter Problems

While Arawolf, to a modest degree, rather prided herself on her intelligence and cunning, she did have annoyingly frequent "stupid moments." As she stood on the ramparts of Redwall Abbey alongside her newest ally, high above a vicious war, by the following minute or so it had become apparent to our marten heroine that this was one of them.

The tall ferret was staring off toward the battlements, and as she watched, he turned with a groan, slapping a paw across his eyes and growling furiously to himself. "Blasted Sue! I had her beaten and everything, and now..." His voice trailed off, paws clenching in fury.

Curious, Ara twisted her head around to get a better look at the battlements over her friend's shoulder. Atop the mighty sandstone wall of the Abbey... there was nothing.

She blinked, as her brain encountered some unexpected technical difficulties in comprehending this. "Er, what Sue?"

At this, the ferret gave an even louder groan and walked away from her towards the nearest wall, proceeding without further ado to bang his head repeatedly against it. Between head-thumps, an explanation struggled its way out.

"You don't" -bang- "understand, Arawolf. She's" -bang-"one of the most" -bang- "dangerous Sues out"- bang-"there!"

The "stupid moment" had mercifully passed by now, and Ara hurried over to the wall, where she pulled Kelaiah away from his continued skull-bashings.

Whirling around, he immediately shook off her touch. She nervously backed off a few paces upon seeing the wild, panicked eyes, and the frantic heaving of his skinny chest.

"You don't understand!" he rasped again. "She's got it _all! _ Lustrous, silky fur softer than the most luxurious velvet, eyes like twin pools of infinity, sparkling with tiny, twinkling stars, their colors able to shift and change at her every whim, a slender, lithe, feline form that any male would die to behold even once, a voice able to produce song so wonderful as to make angels weep and put the nightingale to shame, destined wielder of the mighty golden sword, graced by the most precious of gems, but none of those diamonds and sapphires can even hope to match the wonder of those twin orbs set into that stunning face...asdfghjkl;..."

His voice, rising and falling with rapture throughout this minor paragraph of doom (despite the horrified protests of his brain), died into incoherence. A thin stream of drool trickled down the corner of his jaw, as his glazed eyes stared into a beautiful nowhere.

For the second time that day, but for a markedly different reason, Ara raised her paw, and with considerable force, slapped Kelaiah across the face.

The ferret shook his head, his gaze clearing as he finished, "Oh, and it took Dannflor barely a nanosecond to fall in love with her, demoting Song to raging, murderous, scullery-maid kind of status. Plus she's Song's twin sister, so she's related to a famous canon character..."

"Okay, I get it!" the marten snapped, now thoroughly horrified. "And this is what's now frolicking about _in this very building_? Why the hell did you let her get away?"

Exasperated, Kel rolled his eyes toward the sky, which had turned from an ordinary-but still rather nice- kind of medium blue to a sparkling, shimmering blend of azure, cerulean, turquoise and purest sapphire, broken by silky, weightless, pearly, snow-hued clouds softer than the finest swan's down, owing to the abnormally strong Sue-aura that was positively _spewing _ from its myriad of sources into the previously untouched heavens.

"I had to save you from getting killed, _remember?_" he growled.

Ara blinked, feeling quite foolish once again. Oh yeah... er, thanks..." she muttered, glaring at the walkway beneath her footpaws as though the meaning of life was engraved into its stones.

* * *

From below, the sounds of battle were beginning to die away. As the duo peered down from the safety of the ramparts, they saw in dismay that fewer and fewer Abbeydwellers were left- perhaps only five or six by now. The well-kept, lush grass of the Abbey grounds was all but invisible under the roiling mass of exotic fur, a chaotic rainbow of every color known to animalkind, and quite a few new ones as well. Golden swords twinkled in the brilliant sunlight, shining like beacons as they slashed through the air.

With fewer and fewer enemies to deal with, the Sues were taking an increasing interests in showing off their skills with weaponry rather than fighting, or posing, flexing muscles, and preening while members of the opposite sex looked on in rather lustful interest.

Others had used their intermission to recall their horribly tragic pasts; and small groups of them were sitting under the trees in the orchard, trading their respective tales of angst. The flow of crystalline tears had long since turned the grass and flowers to a shriveled, crumbling brown, but nobeast seemed to mind.

Under the shade of a particularly nice apple tree, Borrakul the gatekeeper was entertaining a captivated audience of stunning ottermaids, pouring out his heart in the tale of his brother Elachim's murder.

Shining tears of sympathy made the exotic eyes of his audience glitter like precious gems, as the still-drunken otter told of how his brother's murderer was now a guest in this very building, and singing the most _hideous _ songs.

"Oh, you poor dear," a particularly slender and lithe she-otter cooed, slipping into Borrakul's lap and stroking his cheek. A rather silly grin pasted itself across his features. "Why don't you think up some _happy _memories? My friends and I _love _happiness..."

Borrakul thought for a few minutes, the process taking longer than usual due to the effects of his massive ale intake. "Uh... well, love, there wash thish one time, me 'n my bro'her were puttin' on a show 'ere, an Florian Wil...Wof...Wiffa... er, our bossh tol' us t' 'ave an inshult contest wi' 'im."

The otter-Sues giggled. "Sounds great! What happened next?"

The gatekeeper spread his paws wide, now thoroughly enjoying himself. "Well, we dres'd up like ferretsh, shee, an' we wore earrin'sh an' breechclou'sh..."

"Breechclouts?" a silver-furred ottermaid interrupted.

"Loinclothsh," Borrakul explained, winking in what he hoped was a roguish fashion.

The otter-Sue still in his lap gazed up seductively into his eyes as the rest gave a collective squeal of delight. "Want to show us how you did it?"

* * *

Krialor's fury was by now so great that if it had been dark, one could have put him up in some tower near the ocean, and used his blazing facial mark and eyes to guide ships. Although perhaps a more appropriate metaphor was that they rivaled the sun itself in their flaming silvered glory; everything about the dark weasel was required to sort of ooze with overused poetic sap.

Regardless of the semantics of his anger, its cause was his idiotic horde. Hundreds of the finest warriors the world had ever seen, unmatchable in strength except by one another, chosen by a plethora of time-worn prophecies to wield various huge and magical weapons; so beautiful that it was as though a pantheon of gods and goddesses had condescended to grace the earth with their presence for a time, and _this _is what they're doing?

The Abbey could not hope to stand against such wondrous might; indeed if buildings could fall victim to the aura surrounding the horde, that twisted reality itself and turned everything in its path into brightly colored blobs of sparkle and chatspeak or simply vaporized it altogther, it ought to have fallen the second they arrived on the scene. Perhaps only the last couple vestiges of canon clinging desperately to its stones held it up at all.

He _had _ to have revenge. Moonblaze's entire being was focused on this one notion, to avenge his family and reclaim the long-lost honor of his species. And his mighty army, his cunning lover's masterstroke, was, for all intents and purposes, completely useless.

It was at the precise moment that the weasel's jaws opened to let a roar of sheer fury loose upon the scene that a tall stoat, his shining tawny pelt shot through with little white overlapping stripes that gave the appearance of feathers, appeared at his side and bowed low.

"My Lord...how has it gone?" he asked softly, his unusual orange eyes glowing with curiosity.

"Ah," Krialor growled, turning to face his second-in-command. "Well at first, but look at these idiots. We have several Marlfoxes detained outside, I do not know what has become of them. I lost sight in the battle. The Abbeybeasts, or what remains of them, are nearly beaten. But my army persists in pleasing themselves, with no idea of the mighty quest they are destined to fulfill."

This last bit was declaimed in ringing tones that resounded about the Abbey grounds, startling the horde back into alertness.

"The Abbeydwellers will not hold out much longer, Lord," Falconstrike said, unable to keep a self-satisfied grin from passing briefly over his handsome features. "I have found the woodlanders, otters they were, and I now have a plan that may well cause the Abbey creatures to surrender."  
Moonblaze snarled irritably. "Well? Get on with it." His voice had once more become tight with fury and barely concealed bloodlust; his paws clenched and unclenched, sharp silver-tinted claws digging into his palms.

"You see, my lord," Riaksairhi continued, "while the Abbey creatures will not hesitate to kill "vermin" like ourselves," -here Krialor growled even more savagely, recalling old and bitter memories- "they would do anything to save the young and the innocent, particularly of their own kind. I have with me an infant otter, not yet turned to serve us."

He gestured downwards, and his leader looked down at the tiny creature, whimpering as it clutched at one of the stoat's legs for comfort. Its fur was a horrid shade of dull brown, its eyes a muted sort of grey, devoid of any sparkle, sheen, or shimmer, and its nose was dribbling to boot.

"And what do I want with this little...thing?" Moonblaze growled.

"Well, you see, Lord..."

* * *

While the weasel tried to focus his attention on his lieutenant's plan, his insides still roiling with anger, Sryiah Stareyes was once more left to her own devices. The beautiful femme strode throughout her army, literally lashing them into attention with her newest weapon: a long whip, the metal spike at its tip edged with diamonds expertly cut to have razor-sharp edges. It could have sliced through pretty much anything, let alone the hide of a disobedient soldier. 

To avoid arousing the attentions of the Abbey's remaining defenders with shouted commands, she called to them telepathically, guiding their minds to her as one. ­-_Listen, all of you, and obey. The Abbey is almost ours. My mate and I must fight for revenge, but for you, fine warriors, therein lies something else.-_

Everybeast in the horde was listening now.

_-If we capture the Abbey, you shall rule all of Mossflower, perhaps the world, turning it to a place of greatest beauty and perfection. Everybeast that dwells upon the earth shall become like us, in a utopia of peace and happiness. Sorrow will no longer have a place; the trials of your pasts shall fade into the mists.-_

(To be fair, most of the horde had not been _born _Sues, and as such did not technically have a life story worthy of continued angst, but the transformation process was kind enough to place memories of brutal slavery, murdered families, predjudice and lost love into the poor creatures' heads.)

On the other side of the grounds, Falconstrike cringed under the raging storm of his leader's distemper. _"That?!" _ Krialor howled. "_That _is your plan?! 'Surrender the Abbey, or we'll kill the otter brat?' Do you think any of my horde could find it in their hearts to slaughter an innocent cub? _WELL?! _"

Riaksairhi was forced to admit defeat, knowing the sentiments of reformed vermin and woodlanders. "Er...no... I suppose not."

With a ferocious snarl, Moonblaze turned away, staring up towards the Abbey. "We have to show those fools that I cannot be defeated! But how..."

A melodious voice sounded, out of nowhere, behind him, as clear as a mountain spring. "I think I know..."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, this took forever to update. Yes, this is my fault, because I am once again a lazy, Potter-obsessed git who enjoys laughing at your despair when your favorite stories never continue.**

**Er, ignore that last bit, please.**

**The scene with Borrakul and the otter-Sues is property of Kelaiah, who suggested it.**

**Thank him for bugging me about this, while we're at it, otherwise this probably would have arrived around 2009. **

**Everyone who submitted characters, I thank you, and they will appear in the next chapter. **

**-Wolf **


	6. In Which A Human Causes Much Disaster

Elizabeth Christensen was that singular kind of Redwall fan, the sort that make parents quite nervous and therapists subsequently quite rich; the sort that makes any other life-form happening to cross her path decide that, contrary to popular belief, allowing adolescents to read is a very, very bad idea.

For Elizabeth Christensen wanted nothing more out of life than to wake up one morning and discover herself in the middle of Mossflower Wood, and another great Redwall adventure. But Elizabeth, who privately knew herself as Rayia Watersong, strong and beautiful ottermaid, had not the least idea that her wish was about to be granted...

* * *

Stus were rarely angry at their fellows, preferring instead to channel their hatred towards their enemies or the prejudiced, but nonetheless Riaksairhi Falconstrike was more than a little annoyed as he prowled back off through Mossflower. The tall, handsome stoat muttered dourly to himself, his striking orange eyes gleaming like twin flames in the sunlight as he stalked among the mighty trees, savagely mimicking Krialor Moonblaze's deep voice.

"_'You call that sniveling brat a weapon? Those Abbeydwellers don't really know how to fight, now that I've turned their damned otters myself, it's those two Slayers we have to watch, and their kind would kill a babe like that and laugh! Go and find me something that will really send those arrogant dimension-leaping killers reeling, or 'twill be your fault that I cannot complete my revenge!'_ Terribly sorry, O Glorious Leader, now what wouldst thou like me to find? A mighty wolverine to aid our cause? A dragon? My powers can only stretch so far, Moonblaze, and if thou cannot get thy revenge properly I'd say 'tis thy own- The hell?!"

Out of nowhere a pale, hideous creature, hairless except for long chestnut headfur, fell twisting and shrieking through the air and crashed upon the ground, where with a soft moan of pain it immediately fell unconscious. As if Falconstrike was not confused enough, then the creature began to change.

The strange, flat face, the freakish, strangely clad body, so devoid of hair or even a tail, all shifted in an instant into proper animal form. Now it was a lean, beautiful ottermaid- though he presumed it had been female from the start- with a sleek brown pelt that shimmered with silver in the light and a slingshot and stone pouch at her waist. The clothes had shifted too, into an ocean-blue tunic with silver and green embroidered sleeves and hem.

All of a sudden the ottermaid stirred, and despite his initial horror Falconstrike knelt with concern at her side. She yawned, stretched, and sat up, as though awaking from a mere night's rest, then opened her eyes. Riaksairhi noticed with interest that the left was brilliant blue, and the right silver-green. She blinked, looked over to see him crouched next to her, and screamed so loudly and shrilly that several songbirds fell in rigor mortis from the trees. Then she paused, held up a paw in front of her muzzle, blinked again, looked down at herself, and screamed again, this time with glee, though the change in emotions didn't stop the fact that there were now no living birds within a ten-mile radius.

"IT'S TRUE! IT'S TRUE! I'M IN REDWALL!" she was howling, by the time the stoat had managed to stop his ears ringing enough to distinguish words being spoken. "THIS... IS... SO... FREAKING... AWESOME!!111!one! omgwait I hope I still have... YESSS!" She punched one paw in the air as she pulled something small and metallic pink out of her stone pouch with the other.

Falconstrike watched, utterly bemused, as she flipped open the top of the object, and did something that made it glow with light and emit loud, unnatural beeps as she poked feverishly at its surface. He next stumbled back in horror, for the strange ottermaid was grinning widely as she aimed it at him.

"Smile!" she said cheerily, then frowned as he scrambled backwards, his mighty sword drawn and pointing at her. "It's just a cameraphone, weasel, and I just, like, _have _to get photo proof of this! All my friends will be sorry for calling me crazy, I _told _them it really exis... OMG WEASEL!!" she shrieked, dropping the pink object as she scrabbled for her sling. "BEWARE, VERMIN," she screamed, "I AM RAYIA WATERSONG, AND YOU'LL... um... TASTE STONY... um... DEATH AT THE HANDS... er... paws, yeah, AT THE PAWS OF MY MIGHTY SLING!"

Despite her ridiculous monologue, the pink "cameraphone" thing, and the fact that she had been a disgusting hairless alien from the sky not five minutes before, the ottermaid had loaded, drawn back, and aimed the sling quite expertly at him. Falconstrike laid his sword down and extended both paws in a gesture of peace, his orange eyes glowing with the light of friendship. "I am not vermin, milady, and am I right in assuming that thou wouldst like guidance to Redwall Abbey? Come, bring thy... thy... camm-arrah-phonn?" he said, forming the last word with difficulty.

"OMG REDWALL YAAAAAY! Thanks soooooo much! Come on, let's go!" Rayia Watersong, formerly a human fifteen-year-old called Elizabeth Christensen by doting, if recently worried, parents, exclaimed, taking his paw and laughing with delight as they bounded off together. Rayia's head was spinning with the handsomeness and niceness of this peaceful stoat, whom she instinctively trusted, and who was taking her to Redwall!

Falconstrike, however, had his brilliant orange orbs fixed solely on the pink object clutched in her paw. He had a strange feeling that it would really come in handy.

* * *

Redwall Abbey was a scene of sparkling peace and happiness, of warm golden sunlight, of fluffy snow-white clouds in a cerulean sky, of apple trees ripe with lush scarlet fruit, of soft emerald grass, of shimmering azure waters wherein lay silver-scaled fish with rainbow fins, and sandstone walls that glowed with a million beautiful different shades of pink and red, like an entire garden of roses shining from deep within the stone, in the afternoon sun.

It was also covered in Sues, the air thick with their auras of happiness, beauty, and peace. Breathing it in was, at first, like directly inhaling cotton candy, but after prolonged exposure it was really quite nice, the Abbeydwellers thought. Only a few untainted creatures remained barricaded inside, and the Sues, until now, had showed no signs of storming the doors or ramparts. But Krialor and Syriah were marshaling them together, encouraging and flattering their skill, and the army, its ranks now swelled to almost twice their previous size, was swiftly preparing to battle once more.

Around the two weasels the lighting effects were curiously skewed; the sunlight shone with a different, more beautiful sort of brightness on Sryiah's silvery pelt and feline form, while Krialor was thrown into deep shadow, from where his silver mark and eyes shone like divine flame, his teeth bared in bloodlust, looking like some vengeful god of war.

Riaksairhi was a little impressed by this when he arrived, but proudly presented his find without too much trembling in awe. Krialor, his powers rising by the instant, immediately recognized the beautiful ottermaid for what she was, and his eyes lit up when he saw the cameraphone. "May I see this, milady?" he asked politely, bowing to her. Rayia blushed and handed it over, and the weasel's night-furred paws closed around it as he muttered under his breath. When he returned it with another bow, it was a brilliant, sparkling pink, like rosebuds glowing with dew in the early morning.

"Ooooh... sparkly..." the ottermaid whispered, turning it around in her paws so it caught the light.

"Now," Krialor said slowly and carefully to her, "Rayia Watersong- yes, I know your name, you have been chosen to do a great and wonderful thing for us. "

"But... you're vermin..." she said, confused, still captivated by the phone and her wondrous surroundings.

"Aye, but see how beautiful we have made the Abbey? My kind and I wish only peace and light for all. And you, Rayia, are destined to help us."

"I knew it! I'm part of a prophecy!" she squealed happily, making Sryiah flinch and Riaksairhi cover his ears in pain.

"Yes," Krialor said approvingly, "yes, you are. Now, you must get up to the ramparts. There are two creatures up there, a marten and ferret, who are of your age, but do not mistake them for friends, for they are the vermin. They wish to kill us all and destroy our masterpiece; both are foul, parasite-ridden creatures who thirst only for slaughter and base pleasures. Never has hell spawned such a pair of... _Where did she go?!_ "

Riaksairhi pointed calmly up to the walltops. "She's already up there, my lord. I'm sure she'll find them any minute now."

"Is that little trollop really part of a prophecy?" Sryiah demanded, uncharacteristically tense with impatience, coiling her whip around and around one slender silvery paw.

Krialor smirked. "No, of course not. Humans are dazed and malleable in our world, particularly the young ones who know of us. I just know what motivates them. Now, get our army out of its battle formation and let me choose the two I need. Those idiotic Slayers won't be able to stand against us now!"

* * *

Rayia was not the only creature in possession of technology that day; up on the ramparts Kelaiah the ferret sat crouched upon the tarp he had laid out to avoid sitting on the Sue-tainted stone, hurriedly punching buttons on a sleek black cell phone.

He held it to one ear and waited for an answer; evidently one came, because in the next moment he hissed, "Adverk? ...I don't care if you're busy! You gotta help me! ...Yes, I can hear there's a fight going on! ...Look, there's an even bigger army of them _here_, inside Redwall's gates! We need reinforcements! ...No, all I have is a basic field pack and I didn't even plan on having a partner, which I now have and she's not even registered or indeed totally sane! ...Well, I was only here after one, I didn't plan on five hundred! ...No, I am not exaggerating! ...Okay, maybe I was a little, but can't you spare _anyone?_ ...Two? Oh, yeah, two's a _big_ help... Elites? Yeah, I guess that'll help, but I think you're still really... OH HE DID NOT!" Kelaiah snarled in fury, tearing the phone away and glaring at it. "He hung up on me!"

Arawolf, sitting on the tarp with her back to him, turned and glared. "Put that _away! _The Sues have really messed with your head, mate, anachronisms like that only make things worse!" She took another peep over the ramparts, groaned, and slapped a paw across her face. "Great Cthulhu," she muttered, "we're _doomed_... what the hell did I get myself into?"

An annoyingly happy squeal distracted her from further angsting. "OMG! You have a phone too! ...But wait, the nice black weasel said you were vermin, and I have to take your pictures, I guess... Smile!"

As both Sue-Slayers looked up in confusion, the ottermaid standing before them held up a sparkling pink cameraphone and pressed the button.

A brilliant ray of light shot out of the tiny lens, bathing ferret and marten in its glow. Their eyes became glazed and unfocused as the light swept down their bodies, drool trickling slowly from their slack jaws. Then it shut off, and with a cheery thanks Rayia Watersong skipped merrily off once more, her foes vanquished.

Unbeknownst to Rayia, Ara, or Kelaiah, the phone was no longer merely a phone. It still functioned as such (though the service around Mossflower was frankly terrible), but Krialor had given it an added ability: When the camera was used, it not only took a picture; it scanned the subjects' brains, drawing information from every neuron they possessed to discover their weaknesses. Such is Sueified technology.

The coma, of sorts, quickly wore off, and the partners soon returned to their senses. Arawolf immediately leapt up, roared, "We've waited long enough! Death has come, Sues! C'mon, let's kill us some perversions of nature! Muahahahahaaaaaa!" Laughing maniacally, she drew her scimitar and bounded off down the stairs. Kelaiah groaned despairingly, knowing somehow that she was playing right into the Sues' paws, but he hurried off after her nonetheless.

* * *

Ara arrived on the Abbey grounds, with Kel close behind, to discover an extremely bizarre, and somewhat horrifying, sight: Every last Sue and Stu was part of a vast circle, sitting on the lawn with linked paws, smiling and swaying happily together. The nearest to the duo, a mousemaid with blue-gold eyes and sleek creamy fur, looked up and smiled at them. "You're just in time!" she said, her pearly teeth sparkling, her voice like the most beautiful music. "There's somebeast here waiting for you..."

The circle parted, and Ara was drawn inward as it closed again around her. A tall figure stepped forward from the opposite end and walked towards her. Kelaiah couldn't suppress a soft cry of horror as it became clearer; even having barely met his partner, he knew they had Arawolf well and truly ensnared.

He was a marten as well, though adult and male, with darker fur and a purely devilish goatee, dressed all in elegant black. Ara gasped as he smiled at her, beckoning her forward.

Kelaiah gave a roar of fury and bounded into the circle, intent on killing the Stu, who now had one paw drawn around the shoulders of a perfectly willing Ara; his partner had a terrifying look of pure ecstasy on her features as the surrounding Sues applauded. Then a voice, the most beautiful and alluring he'd ever heard, sounded near him.

Kel turned, blinking as stupidly as Ara had, to see the ferret femme standing before him. She was stunning, with the figure of a goddess, with a creamy pelt, long golden headfur with the slightest hint of a wave to it, her brilliant blue-gray eyes glimmering like the ocean from the midnight-black fur of her mask.

She spoke again, and it was only this time that he understood the words that fell from those wondrous lips. "Your friend won't come to any harm. Relax, brave one, I've been waiting so long..."

As he drew her into his arms, as she sighed and reached up to him, almost winding herself around him like a snake as their lips met, as farther off across the grass Arawolf found herself in a similar situation (though to say the least, neither Sue-slayer was complaining), at that exact moment Adverk's reinforcements, two of the feared Elite themselves, burst through the gates and began wreaking instant mayhem upon the scene.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I have finally updated this! I appreciate the total lack of pitchfork-and-torch-bearing mobs screaming for my blood. Thanks.**

**Oh, and just so no one's confused, the special Stu and Sue that are now totally... um... destroying... our brave protagonists are Redwallized versions of their human selves' fan-objects (a.k.a. those certain someones who make Ara melt into a puddle of glee and Kel start drooling uncontrollably). The marten is based none-too-loosely upon Voltaire (not the philosopher, the singer- Ara strongly suggests that you look him up if you enjoy dark humor) and the ferret closely approximates Keira Knightley (yes, of **_**Pirates**_** fame). **

**So yes, problems are ahead, and yes, all submitted characters will be appearing next chapter. But no, there will be no further fangirl-/fanboy-ism. So relax. **

**Hope you all remember Adverk, anyways, until recently a flamer who abandoned abuse in favor of helping Suethors improve- he seems to have vanished from our lovely fandom, and it was Kelaiah's idea, a long while back, to make him leader of the Sue-slayers of our fic. **

**And a brief disclaimer, only so no one gets confused: I am in no way affiliated with storiewriter's awesome fic **_**Surviving the Sues**_**; that is the brainchild of her and her friend. Arawolf did appear in her Valentine's Day special (which you all ought to go read, 'tis very funny), but she was loaned with permission (and promises of sharp objects and chocolate). Two separate universes, two separate Sue-slaying organizations. Just wanted to make that clear.**


End file.
